Lost in Wonderland
by Silverstar
Summary: None of them had realised that a djinn's power could affect angels. Although this djinn was hyped up on witch magic, and now they have to get Cas to wake up, although who says he wants to? Being trapped in your perfect world isn't a place you exactly want to leave...


_**Well this has got to be the longest time I've spent checking through and changing things and going back over a Fanfiction. Makes sense that it would be for Supernatural! In other words, I've checked this through as best I can but I'm sure there's still some mistakes hiding in there somewhere, so sorry. Anyway, this is my first fanfic (other than the crossover I'm working on) for Supernatural, so leave a review, please? Thanks!**_

 _ **Other notes - this is based off the song 'Wonderland' by Taylor Swift. The first part is friendship, as is the final part, but the main part of this story is light Destiel. So if you don't like then you could either not read or just skip the mentions. Obviously, I don't own Supernatural, and I'm still very upset about it! :)**_

* * *

"It doesn't even make sense," Sam says, his knees drawn up towards his chest slightly to help support the weight of his laptop. He scrolls through the most recent news pages, before pulling up a new tab to flick through the police archives on the case he's researching. To his left, Dean's tapping a steady rhythm on the steering wheel along to the beat of the _ACDC_ song that's playing.

"What doesn't?" Dean asks, pausing in his tapping as the song ends. He sneaks a glance across at his brother. "Some girl refusing to meet with you on a dating website?"

Sam frowns, before narrowing his eyes in a glare. "What? No!" Dean sniggers like a witch cackle, ignoring the bitch-face pointed in his general direction. "Victims have been found dead in their homes, completely drained of blood, but no marks found on the body."

"So, what, vamps know how to cover up their tracks now?" Dean raises his eyebrows. "What's so weird about that? We've killed the sons-of-a-bitches before now." He switches his gaze from the laptop in his brother's lap to the road ahead. The vast landscape stretching off in the distance from either side of the gravel of the road is mainly flat, with a few rolling hills drifting off into a heat haze that is fast gathering on the horizon from the hot Nebraska sun rays. Dust gathers in large plumes around the Impala as the wheels churn the dried mud up from the tarmac. No signs of life are visible at fast speed, but every so often the dark shadows cast from birds in flight above are cast across the road ahead. Dean's still pissed off at the amount of dust now collected across Baby's windscreen, with the wipers not making much of a difference. A good hour and a half's clean last Saturday (it's only Tuesday now) has officially gone to waste.

"No, and this is where it gets weird. The victims were all found with strange bags containing 'unusual objects' such as bones and herbs on their person, some in their cars, some in the pockets of their clothing."

Dean cuts in again. Not that Sam can really blame him – Baby may be a dream to drive, but a monotonous trip through not exactly dramatic scenery has to be getting on his brother's nerves by now. He's mostly relieved his eardrums are still intact given how many of the classic rocks tapes they've got through already. "Witches now drain people's blood?"

"Uh, apparently not." Sam continues, his fingers flying across the keyboard at lightning quick speed – he's clearly spent too much time around Charlie. "Because according to the police reports, one of the victims didn't die. He was found in a coma in a ditch, and recently woke up in hospital, talking about how a strange tattooed figure glowed blue and then all he can remember is what he's calling 'his dream life'.

Dean squints at him as a bright ray of light catches the wing mirror. "Wait, so a djinn cross witch?"

Sam doesn't reply, instead just staring at the older hunter in a sarcastic _well what do you know?_ expression. "I'm waiting for it." He sighs in fond exasperation as Dean practically rubs his hands together in glee.

"Seriously?"

"I give you permission." Sam blinks as the sunlight catches his eyes as well. "Make the most of it."

"So it's a _witchin_?"

"Honestly, I was expecting more from you. Even the _werepire_ was better than _witchin_."

"It's catchy," Dean points out, guiding the car around the bend and into the turn-off with much relief. The seemingly endless road has been making him want to throw himself out a window, and as much as he would never admit it, Sam's company is literally the only thing keeping him sane at this point.

"No, it's really not." Sam hides his grin, turning to glance out the window as they pass an abandoned motel. The dilapidated building complex has clearly been deserted for several years now, with the old neon sign crashed to the ground, half buried amongst thick strands of ivy. "So, we going to check out dream life guy?"

Dean rubs the forming stubble on his chin, making a mental note that he needs to shave this evening when they finally stop. Sam's magical Wi-Fi summoning powers (or so they seem to him because _damn_ if that kid has ever _not_ had internet) have been useful in discovering the only _not_ flea infested motel in the area they're headed to (he hasn't actually checked the town name yet) and he'll be glad for an actual mattress. "Yeah, but food first."

"Dude." Sam's hair swishes slightly around his head and an image of a girl's shampoo advert cheerfully shows itself in Dean's mind. _Because you're worth it._ "Seriously?"

Dean doesn't even bother replying at first, smirking at the flashing lights of a diner sign up ahead as they finally arrive at the outskirts of the town. "Burger and fries with extra toppings."

"Wow, and I can smell the heart-attack from here."

"Shut up bitch and dream of your rabbit food."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever jerk."

* * *

The next day dawns less bright than the heat-wave of the twenty-four hours before, with a dull overcast sky greeting Sam as he grabs a water-bottle and heads out for a jog. Dean is too busy snoring softly into his pillow, one arm spread out so that his fingers are brushing the mustard-coloured carpet. Sam drapes a jacket over his brother fondly, and closes the door quietly behind him.

He doesn't get back until an hour later by the time he's completed his run and stopped to speak to a pretty twenty-eight-year-old brunette walking a large border collie and a smaller terrier type dog. Dean is surprisingly up, showered and waiting to go back to the diner for food. Unlike some motels they've visited before, the fridge in their room isn't stocked, and Dean's hungry again despite the burger he wolfed down last night. It's another few hours more research and visiting the mortuary for examinations of the deceased victims of their supposed ' _witchin'_ and _finally_ they arrive at the police station. The local sheriff is more than happy to talk to Dean while Sam interviews another officer, but has to leave to sort out a reported burglary, and Dean is now left in the Impala.

Dean tugs at the lapel of his grey FBI suit, waiting for Sam to finish up with the leading officer on the case. The hospital visiting hours will be ending in about two hours-time and he's eager to interview Johnny whatever the guy's name is. To be honest, Sam hasn't been telling him all that much about the case, but Dean doesn't blame him. The younger Winchester still isn't completely healed from the last case they'd worked a few states over, when the werewolf had targeted him specifically for no apparent reason other than the fact Sam was the one with the longer silver bladed knife.

"Hello Dean."

Dean feels that he should be given some sort of award, or at least be credited for the fact he doesn't jump out of his seat like he used to when Cas first used to appear next to him. The angel's trench-coat is slightly crumpled, and there are a few specks of blood along the sleeve, although they disappear as soon as Cas notices Dean's eyes on them.

"Hey Cas," He greets his friend, leaning back in his seat slightly now he's certain the angel isn't gravely injured or about to collapse or something equally as dramatic like Cas is liable to do these days, the stubborn self-sacrificing son-of-a-bitch. "What's up?"

He doesn't have his eyes open, but he can practically sense Cas tilting his head to the side curiously, trying to work out what his strange human is talking about. "The sky?" Dean tries not to notice how the angel deliberately doesn't mention Heaven. Whatever's going on up there, Cas is certainly not a guy without troubles. "I am not sure what you mean by what is up? Birds are sometimes up, when they fly but I don't see what birds have to do with anything?"

Dean laughs. "It's an expression." He secretly hopes Cas' socially awkward misunderstanding of human phrases never changes; it's way too amusing. "Anything you need?"

"Um, no?" Cas guesses, shifting in the seat where Sam normally sits. "I just felt like," he pauses, searching for the right word. "Visiting."

Dean opens one eye and shoots him a smile. "Cool, man."

* * *

It's more or less from this point on (Dean thinks he can pin-point it exactly; the second Cas dropped out of the skies and zapped his way into the Impala) that everything seems to throw itself out of their usual way of hunting (kick ass and figure out which is the best diner in town) and into the entire chaotic mess that can only be connected to the fact Cas still has hopeless communication skills when it comes to _normal human speak is so damn confusing anyway_. Sam isn't at all surprised to see Cas, as though the angel has been speaking telepathically to him the whole time, and Dean has to physically force Cas to move into the back-seat. Sam smirks. Cas sulks. Dean plays Bon Jovi because he only ever does when his angel is around.

The witch-cross-djinn appears to be dwelling in a dilapidated factory that was shut down in the early twentieth century following financial issues and a series of 'accidental deaths' – Dean calls bullshit on that one. Been there, heard the excuse etc. Honestly, if you're going to lie on official investigation reports then at least lie well.

Sam scans the area from the security-camera feeds he's hacked, attempting to block out the conversation being carried out around him.

"I don't understand, I thought this was a witch, given that these," Cas pokes at the faded fabric bags lain across the table in front of him. _"Hex bags,_ were found on the victims."

Dean shuffles back on the bed, pillowing his head with folded denim clothed arms. "Yes, but the draining of blood and coma victim say otherwise." He reaches across to the stained bed-side cabinet where his beer-can is resting, the cold seeping into his fingers as he takes a sip of the drink. Cas watches him in confusion.

"I was under the impression that it is illegal to consume alcohol and drive immediately afterwards?"

"Yeah, but who cares about that?" Dean licks his lips free of the liquid and places it back next to him, before meeting Cas' concerned azure gaze. "It's fine," he urges, surpassing a long drawn out sigh at Cas' eternal _good-guy_ factors. Not that he's got a clean record given his past, but hell, he's an _angel,_ Dean would figure they didn't care about a little thing such as _the law_. "Besides," Dean adds as an afterthought, a delighted smirk working its way across his face. "At this rate by the time Sam's done with his geeky abandoned ware-house searching, I'll be well sober."

Sam slams shut his laptop screen suddenly, causing them all to jump, shooting Dean a classic bitch-face as he slowly yet deliberately announces: "Done."

"Should I…?" Cas begins to edge towards the older hunter with two fingers outstretched. For some reason, Dean can't help thinking of the cringe-worthy alien films, and a small voice whispers _let me probe you sweetheart_ as he jerks back.

"No, I'm good."

Cas does his best puppy-dog expression that can only have been learnt from Sam. With his younger brother, Dean can just about manage to keep on denying him if he closes his eyes and counts to a hundred, but with Cas it's damn near impossible. He jams his hands in his jean pockets and glares ferociously as the angel lightly presses two fingertips to his forehead. Instantly the happy light-headed relaxed sensation evaporates and is replaced with a lightning sharp consciousness of his surroundings and the case ahead of them.

Cas is giving him a smile, looking very pleased with himself. "Thanks," Dean grumbles gruffly under his voice, and pushes past the angel to reach for his gun, sliding it under the back of his jacket and heading out of the door with the keys to Baby swinging like a pendulum from his fingers.

"I don't understand why he wants to increase his chances of crashing," Cas frowns, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he glances across to Sam. The action is so human that Sam has to hide the grin that threatens to show. Cas is one badass angel, but he's also their best friend. He forgets that sometimes.

"Because he's a jerk," He explains simply as if it's the answer to everything, reaching for his own weapon and hoping the lamb's blood is in the trunk as he heads out the door after his brother. The morning air is fresh and cold as it greets his skin, and he tugs his plaid shirt slightly tighter to his arms. Across the carpark, the light breeze is visible in the barely audible swaying of the sycamore trees, the branches drifting from side to side with quiet creaks of old age. The wood is flaking slightly, scattering dust and dried leaves over the windshield of the Impala and Sam watches in amusement as Dean angrily sweeps them away and onto the gravel. No doubt the poorly laid carpark isn't doing wonders for Baby's tires, and he's just waiting for the apologies and stroking of the dashboard to start up again. At least it's called for some pretty damn good blackmail material in the form of videos. His phone's memory has never been so full.

The roads are long and twisted like wizened limbs of ancient lightning struck trees that refuse to fall even after years' worth of storms and strong winds. Dean guides the Impala around the bends with more care then he shows their entire hunting gear and at this point they both like to think they have a pretty good collection (although granted, if anyone else had spare angel blades in the back of their car then it would be cause for concern). Sam continues to make notes on the history of the abandoned factory to try and discover whereabouts in the large complex the djinn (or witch – once again – _witchin_ ) may be hiding. Dark, damp and isolated all seem to point towards one leading edge of the building that led down to a cellar but given how long the place has been abandoned it seems unlikely that finding a route down will be easy.

As it turns out, the building is one of those that stretches along, taking up a good mile or so of flat grassland. Sam stares down at the folded maps, a darkened coffee stain decorating the top right corner left over from last night's late studying (accompanied by Cas' concerned gaze; ' _But Sam, your body requires rest.'_ ) and he leans over to point out the obvious to Dean.

"You may as well drop me off here," he jabs a finger at one end of the building plans. "And you carry on until you reach the opposite end and we'll work backwards and meet in the middle."

Dean stares ahead for a moment or two, avoiding a pothole with deep frowned concentration before replying. "You sure? Djinn are sneaky bastards."

Sam laughs. "Yeah, I know." He gives the older hunter a look _dude, please, I'm not five, I can handle this_ and then switches it to an _I am being serious, almost being crushed by a werewolf last week does not count_ as Dean raises an eyebrow at him. "Look, take Cas with you so you can reach me quickly if you're so damn worried. Anyone would think you actually wanted a chick-flick moment."

Dean makes a fake gagging sound, reaching up to run a hand through his dark-blond hair, still damp from the faint drizzle in the air before sighing as he complies, pulling over to the grassy bank that surrounds the front half of the factory. "Hey Sasquatch?" He calls as Sam climbs out, double checking his knife is covered in the satisfactory amount of blood (what is his life that he can safely say that without being arrested for psychopathic tendencies?). "Don't get your ass kicked?"

Sam simply slams shut the door as a response, the soft shaking of his shoulders revealing that he's actually laughing. Dean feels somewhat affronted – he was trying not to make the younger Winchester too uncomfortable by yelling _don't die yet again, you nerdy bitch_ but hey. You win some and you lose some.

"You seem to be considering something in great detail." Cas remarks, suddenly moving from the back-seat to ride shotgun. Dean chuckles darkly to himself, and shakes his head without saying a word much to Cas' confusion. He will never fully understand humans and their strange ways.

It's only a five minutes' drive down the road, but somehow karma decides to be a bitch for all the time's they've driven illegally down main-roads half intoxicated or with the headlights not working. At least this time Dean's pretty sure he's got a number plate attached as he catches sight of flashing red and blue lights cascading in the partly steamed up mirror.

"Dean, shouldn't we stop?"

With a glance in the wing-mirror closest to him, Dean makes a split-second decision. "No."

He slams his foot down on the accelerator and feels the familiar roar of the engine as Baby speeds up over the safe limit, and with a quick twist of the wheel here and there they manage to carry on down the topsy-turvy roads without too much of a problem. The shrieking of sirens behind them become more audible and Dean curses an elaborate phrase of words that would leave Cas reeling if he wasn't so used to his human speaking in such ways by now. The car careers out of control, skidding across the road and Dean hits his head on the window next to him with the force of the manoeuvre, a faint trail of blood the result of the accident. Cas' quick reflexes from years of fighting as an angel of the lord saves him from a similar fate, and his wide eyed look is filled with pure worry for his friend.

"Son-of-a-bitch," the hunter mutters, yanking on the wheel as he catches sight of a bend and realising a second too late that it's the wrong turning. In a split moment that seems to fraction into tiny minuscule of time in themselves, he catches sight of the police rover speeding past without stopping, sees the factory doors up-ahead, half sunk into the marshy ground surrounding them and manages to jerk his foot down to the brakes before suddenly he lands on his back heavily amongst the crisp bracken. A stray spider scuttles away in surprise, disappearing into the hedgerow.

"What the hell?" He whispers, searching frantically around him before realising Baby is safe, having stopped a few metres away from the marshland. Next to him Cas scrambles upright, brushing some strange red coloured insect off Jimmy Novak's shoes with a patient sigh.

"Dean, are you alright?" The angel questions him, tugging him to his feet and checking him over with a sharp blue gaze. Dean nods, attempting to rid his sight of the slight dizziness before pawing at his pocket for his knife.

"Yeah. Thanks Cas." He feels a jolt of relief shiver through his body as he realises he still has the blade. "Let's go catch ourselves a djinn." He frowns, pausing as he holds up a finger. "Wait, no. A _witchin._ "

"I have never heard of such a creature," Cas replies, looking confused. With ruffled dark hair from the hurried flight, he looks like he's just clambered out of bed. Dean just gives him a smirk and heads down the weed broken pathway towards the entrance of the building. The concrete paving slabs are smothered with a congealed mess of rotting leaves and moss, and a stray dead rat is noticeable just out of the cover of the shrubbery.

At the end of the path, the factory entrance arches up into the sky from great swathes of brambles and other such foliage, a thick copse of trees obscuring the light from the few smashed in windows. Bird excrement graffiti's the large thick wood panels that would once have been a grand arrival area, a familiar and tiresome site to exhausted sickened employees. Over the years of disuse, the wood has decayed, allowing Dean to simply push it aside with a single shove from his shoulder, and step inside into a dark cavern. It's a lot bigger than the outside appearance would give credit to, with a strong stench of mould and rotting leaves, and slime-green water trails down the concrete walls.

"Gross," Dean mutters as his hand comes away from the brickwork wet and he rubs it on the worn fabric of his jeans. He makes a face of disgust as Cas stares at it in apparent fascination, before flicking his torch on with a swift movement. Bright white light illuminates their surroundings, finally resting on a rusted set of steps leading down into the darkness below.

"Those look unsafe," Cas speaks, echoing Dean's thoughts like a telepathic parrot.

"Yeah," Dean admits, cautiously resting his foot on the first of the metal steps. "But it's the only way down." Reaching the bottom of the flight without a hitch brings more relief than he'd care to admit, as he leans back despite the slime and lets out a long sigh, the sound whistling between his teeth. He's not certain if Cas has mojo-ed his way down or if the angel has also attempted the climb, but the next thing he's aware of is the familiar trench-coated figure waiting patiently beside him. He jerks his head in the direction of the unlit corridor ahead, in a silent signal for Cas to follow behind him, and steps out into the darkness once again.

It takes a couple of minutes of silent walking before Dean's aware he can no longer hear two sets of footsteps; only his own and the sound of his heartbeat throbbing in his ears.

"Cas?" He whispers, turning around to find the corridor abandoned save for the large spiders clinging to the corners. "Cas?" A flash of glowing blue light catches his eye from the room to his left, the entrance so well hidden by ivy that he would have missed it had he not been paying attention. Dread fills him as he bursts through, the blue flash all too familiar, but surely angels can't be affected by djinns' powers?

He gathers angels _can_ be affected given the unconscious figure lying un-moving on the cold ground, trench coat spread out around him. For a second, Dean's breath catches in his throat with all new panic as he can't tell if Cas is breathing or not, before he sinks to the ground and gathers the angel into his arms, his fingers finding the steady pulse and relaxing slightly. Thank God.

"Cas, c'mon, you gotta wake up, buddy." Dean murmurs to him, the icy feel to Cas' skin alerting him to the fact the djinn must have already started feeding from him. Given the pale pallor clinging to his friend, it all seems to add up. "Cas! You've got to-"

* * *

"-Wake up!"

Cas opens blue eyes to frown at the figure leaning across him, blocking out the warm sunlight he's been soaking up. The dark-blond hair of the man above him is ruffled and the frantic expression gifting his features is one that the angel recalls having seen when Sam is sick or injured and he feels somewhat honoured it seems to be directed+ at himself. The realisation that he's being held tightly to a warm chest, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, strikes suddenly and he releases himself with a startled sound.

"Dean?" He questions, glancing around at his new-found surroundings with confusion. "I thought we were looking for the djinn?"

"We are looking for the goddam djinn," Dean insists as way of a reply, before finally noting the sunlight bathing them both in a golden hue and raises his head to look around. "What the hell?"

"This does not seem like Hell." Cas states, shuffling back to prop himself upright with his elbow. It's upon this action that he realises he's no longer dressed in his trench-coat, nor any of Jimmy's clothes, instead being clad in a worn pale blue shade of jeans and a green and yellow plaid shirt that he associates with the Winchester brothers. They seem to be sitting in the midst of a field filled with an exuberant amount of different varieties of flowers, and a large tree stands to attention on the opposite side of the meadow next to a long gate. The sky is clear blue, scattered with tiny cotton strands of clouds. He has to blink in the bright light.

"What is this place?" Dean murmurs, as he stands upright, his gaze resting on the gate with a steely set of determination. "Let's go find out."

Cas nods, and goes to get to his feet when he realises exactly what feels so strange – what seems so wrong like an aching pull at every inch of his body and his true form. He can't feel his grace. In fact, as he reaches out for it, he realises he can't hear anything on the angel-radio, and he can't sense any of his family either. Not that he'd be at all relieved even if he could considering the way most of them have tried to kill him in the past, but _still._

"Dean," he chokes out, an unfamiliar emotion tightening around his throat as he finds it hard to breathe, the overwhelming urge to sob and scream attempting to take over. Fear fights an icy hand through his mind as he stumbles forwards, crashing into something warm and solid. He's briefly aware of his forehead resting against Dean's shoulder and steady fingers rubbing circles against his spine and he can't help but relax into the touch. He closes his eyes at the steady murmurs in his ears.

"You okay now?" Dean claims to hate chick-flick moments, but Cas would definitely file this under such a category. He curls his fingers around the loose fabric of the hunter's shirt, the salty tears trailing down his face diminishing at the comforting hold.

"I don't have my grace," Cas admits at last, tilting his head back to fix a red-rimmed gaze at Dean letting out an undignified sniff as he does so. "I'm afraid I'm not of much use to you at the moment." The statement is horribly familiar to what he has said before.

Dean's eyes narrow with an unknown emotion as he pulls away. For a split second, Cas feels a shoot of terror and hurt cascade through him as he believes his friend is about to walk away and leave him before instead Dean pulls off his jacket and wraps it firmly around the angel's shoulders. Glancing down, Cas realises the strange prickling sensation along his bare arms is cold. He feels cold. The hummingbird heartbeat in his chest sounds quicker as he realises he's pure human.

"It's called being scared." Dean explains gently, an uncharacteristic gesture coming from the man who usually hides his emotions. "It's alright." He reaches down, fingers brushing against Cas' white-knuckle fists until the angel relaxes and slips his hand into the hunter's, entwining their fingers until the grip is tight and strong and Dean gives him a soft smile to prove he won't let go. Cas still holds on tight as they start to walk across the field towards the heat-haze cloaked gate. "Just hold onto me, and it'll be okay." Cas briefly wonders if he's dreaming as Dean has never truly interacted with him like this. He feels like he's spinning out of control and stops at the gate.

"Is this real?" He asks, refusing to climb over the wooden barrier until he has confirmation.

"Yes," Dean replies. "Witch, as well as djinn, remember? Must have magicked me here into wherever you are. But this is me."

"Can't we just wait here and call Sam?" Cas can't help his reluctance to carry on further. Nothing is as he knows it to be, and he knows from experience how easy it is to lose the right way – both metaphorically and literally.

Dean grins. "I don't think there's cell reception here, and anyway, it's exploring or some shit like that, which is _fun_." He flashes forest-green eyes at Cas, the sunlight catching on them and lighting them to a purer colour that has Cas feeling the fondness for the human even more.

"I thought you said people who were," he pauses. " _Curious_ were the ones who always end up dead."

"In films, Cas, in films." Dean climbs over the wooden framework of the gate, landing lightly on the gravel path on the opposite side. The rarely used pathway didn't seem like anything had been driven down it in a long time, and other than a few horse-shoe prints etched into the stone-flecked dust, it appeared almost abandoned. In the distance, a small village was beginning to drift into view through the heat haze. Cas inspected the view for a moment, his wonder at the beautiful scenery his father had created never ceasing to amaze him - various shades of green and the blossoms of every colour and scent.

Their footsteps sound loud on the road, echoing in the silence across the fields save for the tiny songbirds decorating the hedgerows and flapping about here and there. Cas loves the way the soft breeze tangles through his hair and whispers to him, and he also loves the way the sunlight casts a warm glow over Dean's skin. It seems to take hardly any time at all to reach the village, ivy and mildew having scratched away at the naming on the sign at least five years before.

Dean glances around the town centre for any sign of life. It's around dusk by now and most people tend to be at home with their families having dinner at this time. A lone dog-walker trots along down the road they've just come from, accompanied by an Australian German Shepherd before either of them can catch his attention.

"Son-of-a-bitch," Dean murmurs under his breath before the familiar glint in his eyes lights up at the sighting of a bar, tucked away down one of the back-streets. Even human as he currently is, Cas can smell the stench of alcohol and other such unruly goings-on that he is sure can't be good, and doesn't particularly approve of. "Ah ha." Dean licks his lips, with a pointed smirk at the ex-angel to his side. "What? We need a room for the night at least. There may be someone who knows where the hell we are."

Cas doesn't reply, instead finding comfort in the warmth of Dean's fingers entwined with his own as their footsteps carry them closer to the establishment. Whether or not the hunter is still holding his hand because he's forgotten, Cas is not sure, but he likes to think it is simply to offer comfort in a friendly way.

The bar is warm and overwhelms Cas' senses as the doors close behind them. He stands awkwardly behind Dean as the other man shoots a half-smirk towards a tall blonde and then sidles over to the bar. The barmaid isn't the most glamourous woman in the world, but she's pretty enough and doesn't take kindly to all the drunken men flirting and leering at her. The burly bald-headed man only has eyes for her low-cut top and she crosses her arms across her chest as she greets Dean and Cas.

"Can I help you?" She asks in a fury tinted voice. Dean sense she is not in the mood, and swaps his flirtatious grin for a grateful smile, sliding onto a stall to sit, and kicking Cas' ankle to signal to the angel to take a seat as well. Cas senses that practically sitting on the same chair as his own is so close to his friend's, is probably not the most socially acceptable gesture in the book, but he's confused and still pretty freaked out by the entire experience.

"Hi, our car broke down a mile or two back." Dean leans forwards to rest his elbows on the polished wood in front of him. "Don't suppose you could tell us where we are?"

She flickers hazel-warm eyes over Cas and smiles widely at him with genuine warmth. "Sure can, sweethearts. Manderson, Wyoming."

"Thanks," Dean replies, and considers ordering a drink before glancing across at Cas. The angel's just mysteriously lost his grace and seems pretty confused and somewhat out of it. To force him to sit around while Dean gets tipsy isn't exactly fair. "Don't suppose you know where we could get a room for the night, do you?"

"Sure do." She tosses long hair over her shoulder, still focussed on Cas. "There's a motel just down the road from here. Not the greatest place you'll ever stay at, handsome coupla' fellas like you, but it's not dirty either."

"I'll be sure to be back to thank you at some point," Dean gives her a wink, ignoring the dramatic sigh sent his way as a reply, and slinks out the door. Cas follows him, biting his lower lip in an anxious human gesture before finally giving in. The streets are empty – and Dean didn't mind earlier. He reaches out to clutch at his friend's hand again.

Dean smiles and doesn't say a word.

The barmaid was right, it seems, as the room the spotty teenager on the desk directs them to, narrowed eyes directed at their hands, is clean and relatively spacey. There's only one bed though – a queen in the centre of the room with a soft white duvet. Cas opens a window with one hand as Dean considers their options.

"I could go and ask for another room if these sleeping arrangements make you uncomfortable?" Cas asks hesitantly, lowering his gaze to the floor. He doesn't want to be by himself. Not when everything seems so damn different.

"Nah man, it's fine. As long as you don't snore like Sam does sometimes." Dean tugs off his jacket and shoes and flops down on the bed, the lack of any belongings forcing him to sleep as he is. Cas glances down at himself before carefully stepping out of his own shoes and draping the trench coat over the back of the radiator in the corner. He takes a step closer before cautiously lying down next to his friend.

He longs to sleep. He knows how to; the idea of sleep is not a new idea to him, but he finds with growing desperation that he can't. It's not until he feels strong arms twisting around him – one around his chest and the other around his waist, fingers splayed across his ribs – that he relaxes into the embrace, feeling warm breath ghost across his neck. Part of him wonders if he should sleep with one eye open, to keep watch for any danger as Dean has no weapons on him, but the warmth of his friend holding him close in a safe huddle of blankets has him drifting off to sleep.

* * *

Wide blue eyes slide open a slither and open fully in surprise as the sight of an unfamiliar room greets Cas. It takes a full five minutes to recall their current situation, and when he rolls over to face Dean, he closes his eyes and smiles. He knows it's all so wrong and yet he doesn't really mind. Dean seems to care about him back in the way Cas cares. Humans call it love. Angels think of it in a slightly different way but Cas has never been an ordinary example of his kind.

He pulls the blankets over to cover the dark-blond man and reaches out to gently brush back loose strands of hair from his forehead.

"Thanks," Dean mumbles in his sleep. Cas pauses, bites his lip hesitantly but tears his gaze away to reach for his trench coat and shoes. The laces take slightly longer than usual, but he does manage to find a way to complete the change without falling over, and pulls the window shut as he passes as the morning air is fresh and he doesn't want Dean catching a chill or however humans describe it.

Bird-song filters through the dawn-struck skies, the sun casting different hues of peach, pink and pearl over the clouds as the daylight fast approaches. Cas breathes in the fresh scents cast by the morning due before crossing the street to the road leading out of the town. He needs to test something and he glances down at the sign before attempting to head down the path where they came from yesterday. After a few steps, he finds himself back in the town centre again. His suspicions are being proven correct. The last clue that will prove him right he fears is waiting for him back in the motel room.

It doesn't long for Dean to wake up after Cas returns, sitting upright with a startled yawn and an extravagant cat-like stretch. The bed-sheets pull at his t-shirt, tugging it up slightly and Cas enjoys the view for a few more seconds before conducting his experiment.

"You're finally awake." He greets the hunter as Dean yawns again, and clambers out of bed to join him at the tiny coffee table next to the window. A paper from the day before is resting there, but Cas doesn't feel inclined to read about the every-day goings-on of some finally captured drug-dealer and a change in the wages of truck-drivers.

"Yeah. So, time to find out where we are?"

"Stop pretending," Cas murmurs, before glancing up as Dean stands behind. "I love you," he announces suddenly, and Dean smiles, ruffling Cas' dark wind-swept hair with one hand before kissing his forehead.

"I know." There's a pause. "I love you too."

Cas feels his heart sink and closes his eyes for a moment. This isn't real – just some sort of hallucination created by the djinn and yet it feels so real and he desperately wants to believe the words coming from Fake-Dean's mouth. He wants to believe it's really Dean saying them, but he knows believing in a fake world is pointless.

"None of this is real," He realises aloud once again.

"We could pretend. This is our own Wonderland – nothing bad, no evil, just you and me and we could make it last forever." Dean's voice is soft, wrapping around Cas with a pleading tone. "Why not?"

Cas glances down. "Okay."

* * *

"Cas!" Dean's voice sounds loud from the kitchen as Cas dumps the heavy shopping bags on the table in the dining room of the house they're renting. It's been about a month since Cas first realised this is all a lie, but he can't bring himself to care particularly. He pads bare-foot through the room to stand in the doorway, watching his _partner_ with amusement as Dean appears covered in flour.

"What happened to you?" Cas remarks with a bark of laughter as Dean sneezes, sending a cloud of flour to the newly-cleaned tiles of the kitchen floor.

"Tried to make pie, and then cookies because you like them so much." Dean glances over his shoulder with a rueful grin. "Well the pie went perfectly, but the cookies look more like mutant doughnuts had a threesome with a wedding cake and a burger and I have no idea why." He pouts at Cas when there's no reply. "Yeah, yeah, I know you only cleaned yesterday. Just give me a kiss already."

Cas happily agrees, when he's aware of the all-too familiar voices whispering at him from the echoes of his hearing. They started to call to him when he first left the motel room hand in hand with Dean, as if they know what he's secretly pretending, and that he doesn't belong here. He has tried his best to ignore them, but Dean has walked in before on him curled up on the middle of their double bed with a pillow wrapped over his head and fingers clinging to his ringing ears.

"You hearing them again?" Dean asks, sorting through the shopping bags and taking a bite of the doughnuts Cas has selected from the bakery sections of the store a mile or so away. He swipes away the loose sugar from his lips and shoots the ex-angel a questioning look.

"Yeah." Cas murmurs back. At first he'd thought they were alone in this world, with no-one from before to try and argue against the fantasy he'd created, but it appears it is not the case. He glances across the street, catching sight of a shadowy figure flitting away around a corner as Cas attempts to identify them. He frowns, cursing mildly under his breath that has Dean practically jumping back in shock.

"Did you just curse?"

"Some strange person has been following me around for the past couple of weeks now," Cas complains as he feels Dean's arms wrap around his waist. "It's very disconcerting." The fact Dean doesn't automatically ask if Cas wants him to go and - _sort them out, Cas? What does that mean, Dean? He means punching them. Thanks for that insight Sam, sarcasm totally intended –_ is another factor that jolts Cas mind back into the realisation that this isn't really Dean, just a figment of his imagination.

"What do you want to do about it?" Fake-Dean whispers in his ear. "Can't you just ignore them?"

"But, what if it's to do with…" Cas knots the fabric of his shirt between his fingers and tenses his shoulders as the voices splinter into fragments around him, falling silent again much to his relief.

"With what? Your other world? But I'm here, Cas."

"I know." Cas shakes his head, letting strands of dark hair sweep across his forehead at the movement. Dean chuckles, running fingers through the growing fringe.

"You need a haircut."

* * *

It's two weeks later, when they've finished registering all the correct documents – at least Castiel Winchester seems somewhat familiar from hospital forms in the real world – that Cas is aware of the stranger again. He's lying back in the cream leather driver's seat of their convertible while Dean collects the keys to the small shop they've finally saved enough and stolen enough to afford. The sun drifts lazily across his face and he feels more relaxed than he has in a long time, his eyes shut and shirt loose as the top three buttons are undone.

He's not sure what jolts him awake – without his grace, there's no reason to sense danger – and he doesn't have the excuse of hunter instincts like Sam and Dean (real in this context) do, but he opens both eyes and sits upright, scouring his surroundings for the cause. A pair of dark eyes meet his own as he catches sight of an all too familiar shadowed figure standing with crossed arms against the corner of the building leading onto the alleyway opposite. Reaching for his phone, he goes to try and snap a picture so he can report the stalker, but the man fades away before his very eyes like a ghost.

Cas blinks, and rubs his eyes with his knuckles before checking to see if the man has reappeared. From the short time he spent as a hunter with Sam and Dean, and from general time spent around the brothers, he knows ghosts have to be tied to something to be able to remain in this world and yet he can't think of what this spirit could be clinging onto.

Then the voices start. "Stop it," he mutters under his breath, clamping his hands over his ears as the shouts suddenly break into screams, screeching at him with an overwhelming intensity. Cas doubles over in the car seat, a high-pitched keening cry sounding from between his clenched teeth and he closes his eyes tightly and rocks back and forth.

"Easy, easy," Dean's voice sounds, and arms wrap around him tightly, fingers prying his hands away from his ears and kisses peppering his ruffled hair. "It's okay."

"No, it's really not." Cas lifts his head, tear-stained cheeks flushed with emotion as he buries further into the car seat. His shirt clings to his back with sweat and he scrambles further away from Fake-Dean with a pitiful glare. "I can't do this anymore. None of this is real."

"But it's perfect here." Fake-Dean seems confused, lifting one eyebrow in question. "Isn't it fun just pretending?"

"Not when I'm losing my mind." Cas snaps back. Something changes in Dean's expression, like a shifting of loyalties and a twisted sneer comes into view to replace the tender smile that gifted it before.

"Fine." Dean snarls, slamming the car door shut behind him and stumbling away across the gravel of the road. "Good luck finding your way back to your precious Sam and Dean though."

"Just, help me get home? Please?" Cas' feels his breaths coming in deep jagged gasps as he snatches at Dean's sleeve. The fabric tugs through his fingers and he stares up through blurring tears to see his illusion dissolve into thin-air, leaving him alone in his own make-believe world.

"Cas?" The voices sound clearer all of a sudden, and he tilts his head back into the wind to listen with all his heart. "You need to come back home to us buddy." There's a muffled sob, and Cas frowns. "Please. We need you. I need you."

Cas kicks the door of the car shut after him as he stands upright on unsteady legs, feeling like a new-born foal. A small smile drifts across his features as he catches sight of the sunset glimmering across the horizon, lighting on a small yet familiar road towards a field of nostalgia.

"I know." He murmurs, his voice catching on the promise. "I need to come back home."

* * *

Many people would describe the road home as hard, exhausting and seemingly never-ending. Of course, these people would normally be speaking metaphorically. Walking across fields in scuffed over shoes and a worn and tired-looking trench coat as his grace is not available to clean it up a bit, is not going to get the better of Cas though, he's determined. A soft breeze makes the journey slightly easier, and a sky scattered with glowing diamonds of stars and a silver glow gracing across the landscape, bathing everything in moonlight is beautiful in his eyes.

Dean's voice whispers in his ears, in the wind, beckoning him closer to the light at the end of the path, closer to home. Home isn't in his imaginations, be those imaginations be the result of a djinn powerful enough to affect Cas himself due to being hyped up on witchcraft magic, or the dreams that weave their way through his mind late at night when he watches out for Sam and Dean. A stray blanket tucked a little tighter around shoulders, or a gentle touch of fingers to a forehead to calm the nightmares into nonexistence – it doesn't make a difference, because he belongs wherever his friends are.

He likes that word. Friends. He also likes the word belonging. Verb…as much as home as a fish in water a wise man once spoke. That seems a little ironic to Cas considering he can remembering watching a certain fish heave itself out of the waters and a more experienced brother gently resting a hand on his shoulder and telling him to leave the fish well alone. It belongs here. He can sympathise with that fish sometimes.

Cas runs a hand along the top of the gatepost and wonders at the spectacle of the glowing light in the field ahead of him. He considers staying for a bit longer, in his own wonderland.

"Cas."

He steps into the light, a strong sense of love and belonging flooding his senses and wrapping him the warmth of the feelings and emotions, hugging him tighter until he can actually feel the damp of his shirt clinging to his chest and warmth breath splaying out across his collar bone as someone tugs him closer.

"Hello Dean."

There's a soft sound of relief that squeaks from deep in Dean's throat as he pulls away slightly, his fingers still clinging to the back of the trench coat, and the other hand pausing in weaving through the angel's hair. Cas is acutely aware that the damp patch on his shirt is salty and Dean's red-rimmed eyes tell the story without words. He doesn't need to speak a single syllable, offering a simple smile instead and Dean gives him a nod. _I love you_. So what if that was just as a friend for now, Cas knew Dean was there.

"I have my grace back," Cas whispers aloud, feeling the familiar tendrils of power snaking around his pure form, hidden from view behind his vessel. Sam has apparently turned up while he's been unconscious, a faint scratch across his lower left arm the only apparent injury. Other than the wound from the Impala's adventure, Dean also appears relatively unharmed.

"You…" Dean trails off, his eyes darkening in somewhat secretive knowledge as he doesn't press the strange statement. "Let's go home." He sighs at last, falling back, the lifeless form of the djinn in the shadows being left unmentioned.

Cas smiles. "Yes."

* * *

 _ **Annnd...there you go. Finally finished. Leave me a review (for a free virtual cookie!)?**_

 _ **Kat x.**_


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